


You Can Be Me When I'm Gone

by stevieraebarnes



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Future, Barbara Gordon Sighting, Batfamily Feels, Brief Mention of Other Romantic Relationships, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical References, Character Death, Dad Dick Grayson, F/M, Future Fic, Introspection, M/M, Marriage, Memoirs, Musings of a character raised in the Bat Life, Original Character(s), POV First Person, POV Outsider, Teen Titans References, They all had good lives okay?, Tim Drake is a good uncle, Young Justice references, dad jason todd, description of death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-13 19:50:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14755214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevieraebarnes/pseuds/stevieraebarnes
Summary: A unique tell-all of growing up with Gotham's own Bat Family. At the heart of Thomas Grayson's memoir is a man who must face the fact that all must die, including those who have returned from death before: Thomas’ father, Jason.





	You Can Be Me When I'm Gone

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place in the batfam's future and includes references to both canon events and events from the series DTYGtB.
> 
> Please read the tags. There is major character death. However, the death comes after experiencing a full life, as described in this fic, if that's any consolation for you.

There are so many things I don’t remember.

I don’t remember my first date or the first school dance I attended. I don’t remember when I first went through puberty, when my voice changed, or when my first zit erupted on my face. I’m sure the date was fun. And I’m sure the dance was probably stifling. The zits didn’t matter since I spent most of my teenage years with my face hidden behind a mask and I didn’t care what the kids at school thought. They weren’t interesting in comparison to the life I lived, to my upbringing.

I remember the first time I got to fly through the city.

My parents had held off as long as they could, but we all knew it was inevitable. I guess they could have hidden that side of the family if they truly didn’t want me following in the business. I know that seems like an impossibly large secret to keep, but my parents could do it. They could do anything. But grandfather had kept too many secrets from them as children, as adults, and my parents refused to live the same. Sometimes, when I pay grandfather’s grave a visit, I think about all of the secrets he took with him. But mostly, I think, _Why?_ _Why build such a close-knit vigilante network – a family – if you’re not going to trust them to have the strength to carry whatever burdens you took with you?_

In the beginning, there was my grandfather: Bruce Wayne. And he was the rock upon which he built his brand of justice. I know grandfather’s ways came from his own personal hurt. Though he was larger than life, he had a host of mental trauma like the rest of us. Grandpa craved family, but feared losing us. He kept things from us. This directly led to my parents’ philosophy of openness with me.

I remember my parents arguing over my joining the vigilante family tradition. They didn’t care I was standing right there. Sometimes they were like that; so guarded with others behind their carefully crafted personalities. Then sometimes they’d get lost in their own little world and only each other could pull themselves in or out.

“I’m sick of Bruce’s Children’s Crusades. I’m sick of babies pretending to be men.”

“He needs to learn.”

“He is learning! Goddamn, I’m not saying I don’t want him knowing how to defend himself! Jesus knows the kid’s going to face some tough situations.”

“And if there are others present? In danger? What, Tom should save himself and get out of there? He needs to learn to also save those around him. Otherwise we’re just raising an asshole.”

“Well, it’s probably genetics at this point, but I’ll let you continue your nature versus nurture debate.”

There was a laugh, and then my parents were holding each other. I know they blamed themselves for the life they raised me in. I know they blamed themselves for loving it too much to give up. But dad was right, except it went back further than that. It’s nature. It’s nurture. I am the product of two of the world’s best vigilantes. And my parents never got a say in it. I’ll always love them for loving me. For taking one look at me when I was first discovered in that lab space and rolling with it. I think dad said something like, “What’s one more? Robin’s getting a bit old anyways.”

I was only a baby when they found me while undercover for an investigation on Lex Luthor. Of course there were tests. Recon missions. Destruction of blood samples and other personal lab results when it became clear what I was. There was only one path laid out for someone of my creation and I love that my parents never questioned me. Everything that brought me into this world? Sure. But never me. And that night, after my parents argued, I got to fly. My grandfather took me, since he still wore the cowl, and it’s not a real first flight through Gotham if you’re not going with the Batman. I remember the rush, the air, the sounds of the city alive and pulsing. I remember my parents waiting for me back at the cave, the look on their faces showing pride.

But now, I sit here in my parents’ empty penthouse and I wish they had questioned everything. I wish they had flown the coop when they found me that day. I wish they had fought nature. Fought nurture. Fought genetics. Because my father is dead; he died doing the same thing he did every day for the past forty years. He is dead and gone and I want to hit everything until the redness bleeds out of me like it did for him.

:::

I am an evil corporation’s test tube baby.

I’ll say it again because I know it’s kind of shocking.

I, Thomas Peter Grayson, was created in a lab. I was created by Project Cadmus as a little extra side project of theirs. If you’re wondering, _Isn’t that the group that created Superboy_? Yes, yes it is. Ten points to you and while it means I was made for someone’s evil agenda, I’m at least in good company. My dad, Jason, used to laugh at the fact that out of every vigilante Cadmus could have selected, they chose him. Or maybe they didn’t. Maybe it was an accident. Or maybe they thought they had some other biological specimen. Perhaps there was sabotage. Regardless, I know when I was only a baby, right after my parents had claimed me as theirs, Dad would hold me up to the rest of the Bat Family and taunt them. He would do this in particular to Uncle Damian.

“Just because you’re not good enough to be selected as a donor to the clone/mega-weapon community,” he would tease whenever Damian was not allowed to do something.

Uncle Damian was about fourteen years old at the time, which means my dad was being an asshole. But Uncle Damian’s also an asshole. Their assholery is definitely a product of their upbringings. You’d think the answer to their ways would be Bruce since he’s a common denominator, but it’s not. They both just had very different, but extreme childhoods. Though Talia does show up on both men’s scorecards.

Uncle Damian would yell back at my father’s tauntings about his own proud lineage and him being the only true Wayne or Al-Ghul and how dad was Bowery trash. See? Consensual assholery. That’s not a word, at least according to the document program I’m using, but I don’t care. It’s the only way to appropriately describe the two men’s behavior.

But I think my dad engaged in this sort of commentary when my parents first got me simply to convince himself I carried half of his pairs of chromosomes. He would hold me up in front of himself and examine my face: take in my features which could only be a combination of Jason and Dick. I was like a neat optical illusion – tilt me one way and I looked more like Dick; tilt me the other way and I clearly took after Jason. It was hard for him to accept that truly, it was him, _Jason Peter Todd_ , who was chosen to create me. I understood why this was so hard for him, though. He feared he was a failure. He feared he was second rate. His birth mother didn’t choose him. His adoptive parents chose crime and drugs instead of him. But I know with age comes wisdom, and Jason finally learned to accept the truth – Bruce chose him. And Dick too, several times over. He chose to accept Jason as a replacement for Robin. He chose him as family. And Dick chose him as a husband every day for the rest of Jason’s life.

 

So. I may be the test tube baby of Cadmus, but I’m the son of Dick Grayson and Jason Todd. Yes, that Dick Grayson. Yes, the one with the looks and the smile and…I’ve heard it all. I wish I hadn’t. And yes, that dead kid, Jason. Surprise. Want another surprise? Dick and Jason were both Robins. As in Batman and Robin. Oh, did I not mention that? My grandpa Bruce was Batman. Yeah. I know. My dad Dick was Robin #1 who then became Nightwing. He totally got cooler, huh? And my dad Jason was Robin #2, died, came back to life, took on a bunch of identities, mostly Dick’s, then settled on the Red Hood, which is also an upgrade. C’mon. What’s better than the helmet and leather jacket?

I was Tom to my parents, never Thomas or Tommy. And that’s when they bothered to use my given name at all, which was almost exclusively reserved for when someone was angry. Usually if I broke something. Otherwise, I was _kiddo_ , _Lightwing_ , _rerun_ , _marshmallow_ , and my personal favorite _hey you, small child_. Oftentimes my dad called me Pete, after my middle name. It’s his middle name, too. I always liked it when he called me that, like it was an affectionate secret the two of us had.

The only people who ever called me Thomas were my grandfather and my uncle Damian. My uncle called me Thomas because as best as I can figure he is absolutely incapable of using a person’s nickname and he had already designated my last name to my dad. My grandfather would use it at mandatory society gatherings, and I was always referred to in full. “This is my grandson, Thomas Grayson,” he would drawl in a practiced, bored way. Or, “Ah, yes, Thomas Grayson, come here and meet Mrs. So-and-So, a person who has known me since I was your age.” I would smile and shake hands and the patricians would coo at my manners, my charm, and then I would say with my best impression of my dad, “Holy diamonds, lady!” or something to that effect. Then I would make my escape until one of my dads found me and hauled me back inside. It was a fun game, with different rules depending on which one caught me. The best part about the game? None of us wanted to be there and I think the hide-and-seek thrill made going to grandfather’s parties worth it.

-

I moved to a different rhythm of Gotham life than most kids, moving between the diurnal forces of society life and vigilante life. Society life included appearing at school and attending grandfather’s charity functions. And while school was okay, the parties were only fun as long as I could run off and see who caught me. That ended once I was deemed too old to engage in such behavior, which was completely bogus since my fathers still played the game even without me. They would sneak out only to be caught and dragged back in by Alfred, grandfather’s long-standing butler, trusted ally, first Bat Family member, and substitute father figure.

So while grandfather had some influence over the society functions the family appeared at, he had no say in my schooling. I attended the neighborhood public school, which was one of my grandfather’s favorite subjects to argue with my dads about.

“It’s a waste of his potential,” Grandpa liked to say.

“Fuck you, old man,” Dad liked to say back.

“I don’t know why I even bother talking to you about this. Where’s Dick?” Whenever my dad was being extremely agitating, grandfather would just ask for my other dad.

“And I don’t know why I keep responding to your bait. It’s not like you listened to our reasoning the first hundred times. And Dickie’s with Damian.”

My parents were vehemently opposed to private school. I don’t really see what’s so bad about it besides a rather homogeneous income level, but I’m not my parents (okay, I am; I’m a hybrid). Plus, it’s not like they were against me having private tutors. And I didn’t even attend school regularly. I seemed to alternate between enrollment and homeschooling, depending on if I was in Gotham or not. But Daddy Grayson grew up in the circus before grandfather took him in and Father Todd lived on the streets of the Bowery. I think the whole parochial school thing just rubbed them wrong, and they wanted to keep me close to home. Side note: this is the second time in my entire life that I’ve ever referred to my dad as _Father Todd_. The only other time, I called him that at home when I was about eight years old due to some weird desire to speak like Uncle Damian. But when he heard me call _Father Todd_ , his whole face paled, he made the sign of the cross, and then he told me to never call him that again.

:::

When we were in Gotham and living more of a normal life, I went to the school a couple blocks away. It was close enough to our home that I could walk to and from school, and if there was an emergency my dad Jason could show up for damage control. That was the real selling point; attending the neighborhood school meant I was nearby and safe. It meant I wasn’t being sent away. My family often spent weeks or months away from each other, usually on some business for Batman or their own vigilante network, so both my dads felt it was important to have a close-knit home base. Dick had commuted to Blüdhaven for the first few years of my life until he was able to transfer to Gotham. But even after the transfer, he would still spend a few nights a week patrolling the streets of Blüdhaven to keep crime at bay. I think sometimes Dad just missed it; the city was where he really came into his own. For a long time, Dad was the city’s only protector, and he gave much of himself to the streets and the people.

So, while Dick worked for the Gotham City Police Department, Jason was home with me. The three of us would have breakfast together before Dick left for the GCPD, then it was just Jason and myself. He made my lunch until I was old enough to make it, made sure my homework and library books were in my backpack, and we would head out the door of our downtown apartment and walk together to school. The apartment was a spacious two-bedroom penthouse grandfather had gifted to my dads. Apparently, before I came along, Grandpa was really sick and they had to look after Uncle Damian for a while in the penthouse until Grandpa recovered. I guess Bruce figured he didn’t need it back since my dads were living there as a married couple. And I came along about a year later so the penthouse once again became a family unit.

While walking to school I always wanted to ask my dad about his and Dick’s _night lives_ , which is a pretty weird thing to want to know about if your dads aren’t vigilantes. Dick and Jason, plus grandpa Bruce and all of my aunts and uncles drilled it into me about when we could talk about what, and what names to use. But I was a boy being raised by Nightwing and the Red Hood – how could I not be fascinated? Plus, I could make cryptic comments along the walk to satisfy my curiosity of what my dad got up to while I was at school.

“Going to meet any interesting people today?” I would ask.

“Usually do, whether I want to or not,” Dad would respond. He tended to attract all kinds of incidents.

But mostly Dad would ask me about the kids in my class, my teachers and aides and instructors. He wanted to know about any shifts in their behaviors, how they engaged with me, and if I had any concerns. Jason would also ask what I played at recess and if I was behaving myself.

“It’s not your job to make sure everyone is happy, Pete. But you can certainly help out wherever you can.” Jason taught me the difference between automated niceness and genuine kindness. Niceness was a false face I could show anyone and everyone. Kindness was a feeling and action utilized for a specific reason and event. Kindness didn’t always look nice to whoever was watching, but it was always the symptom of doing the right thing.

-

When I was away at school, Jason would track down contacts and prepare for whatever he was working on at night when he became the Red Hood. But there were many days when I wasn’t in school either, which meant Dad had to improvise. If I didn’t have school, Dad would take me to the library. I could pull as many books from the stacks as I wanted and sometimes we’d spend hours in a corner we liked where we could read in quiet.

Sometimes Dad would take me to Wayne Enterprises and let me loose on Uncle Tim. He would barge into Tim’s office and immediately lay down on the couch.

“Why don’t you nap at home?” Tim would say.

“And deny you the privilege of seeing your favorite nephew?” Dad would respond.

“He’s my only nephew.”

As of today, I am still Tim’s only nephew. Tim was an only child before joining the Bat Clan, and he figured by taking on the mantle of Robin, he’d help ease Batman’s darkness after Jason died as a teenager. Tim didn’t realize he would gain a brother. And then another brother. And then a brother brought back to life (hi, Dad). A sister. A girlfriend. A mentor. A team. Tim went from a lonely child to a middle child in a chaotic household. Don’t let the tech and Alfred’s influence fool you: it was chaos. The Bat Family is a blend of strong personalities and individual quirks, no matter how much grandfather tried to raise a unified brood. He got a lot of things right; Bruce managed to convey the sense of family and loyalty, but affection was not often a priority. And considering kids found by Bruce were generally in need of affection, the whole family dynamic was a bit off. Every boy brought into the cave was initiated into a lapse sort of brotherhood. The girls, except for Cass, were carefully kept away from the sister label. I think this was done unconsciously by grandfather in case the boys and girls decided to become romantic. Grandfather was very pragmatic. Of course, it failed spectacularly. Not completely since some of the boys and girls did date, but I think grandfather was taught a lesson:

When Dick and Jason married each other, he learned sometimes you can’t predict everything.

 

Whenever I’d come into Uncle Tim’s office, he’d grumble at my dad but his face would light up when he saw me. He’d walk around his desk and take my hand. I’d manage a goodbye to my dad, more of an afterthought of politeness as I followed my uncle through the maze of Wayne Enterprises. Uncle Tim was usually dressed in suit and tie, while I was in whatever shorts were my favorite at the time and a t-shirt which may or may not have matched. We would take the elevator to Research and Development where he would show me some of the new projects they were working on.

I loved it.

Uncle Tim would let me pull open drawers. He would let me get my hands all over the equipment. If there was a button, Uncle Tim would let me push it.

I got to mess around with AutoCAD (all of my designs were awful) and even machine random blocks of aluminum into weird shapes. Uncle Tim has one of my pieces on his desk at Wayne Enterprises.

Grandpa Bruce took notice of my interest in the company and definitely had some choice things to say to me about it. By the time I’d reached junior high, he started grilling me about college.

My parents were not too concerned over my future career. In fact, I think they mostly avoided the conversation out of their own desire for me to have as long a childhood as possible. Although, Jason had made a few passing comments about me attending university. I think he would have enjoyed higher education.

Grandfather, however, was relentless.

“It would be preferable for you to have an MBA for when you take over Wayne Enterprises, Tom.”

I think I was thirteen at the time when grandfather sprang this on me, so I responded with a very eloquent, “What?”

Grandpa Bruce let out a deep breath and closed his eyes. I had been visiting my Uncle Tim again at the main Wayne building, this time without the need for my dad to bring me by, and I had been working on some Solidworks drawings. I was starting to get pretty good.

“To run this business, you will have to earn the position by proving you have taken the minimum necessary coursework so you can at least keep up with the vernacular. You will need a Bachelors, and then a Masters in Business.”

“But Uncle Tim only has a high school diploma.”

Grandpa didn’t even hesitate when he responded with, “You’re not Tim.”

It stung a little back then, but let me tell you, no one is Tim. And you’re never going to find another Tim. So it’s really not an insult. It’s just a fact.

But I told my dad Dick about the exchange. And Dick told my other dad Jason. Let’s just say Jason didn’t handle it very well and there ended up being a very loud conversation in the Manor’s study when we gathered for Sunday brunch.

“You need to leave my kid out of your corporate hands for world domination.”

“Tom’s a bright kid who has the perfect opportunity to run a successful company. The people want to make sure the company remains in the hands of a Wayne.”

“My kid’s a Grayson.”

“And he’s my grandchild. Damian or Tim cannot be sole CEO, especially not with Damian set to takeover the cowl. They will need help. It’s Tom’s birthright.”

“The only people who inherit anything by right of birth are congenital idiots.”

There was a pause, and then grandfather continued, amusement easing from his voice as a corner of his mouth turned upward.

“While I appreciate your use of Asimov, I still think someone in this family should get a degree.”

“Don’t be a snob, Bruce. Dickie graduated from the Police Academy.”

My father had a special affinity for getting on the nerves of the person of his choice. He usually chose my grandfather. I know many people throughout the years wondered why Grandpa Bruce put up with him. Maybe they thought Bruce was stubbornly sticking to his decision from when he offered Jason the Robin suit all those years ago. Maybe they thought Bruce was trying to rehabilitate him. Maybe it was out of respect for Dick. Maybe it was because of how Jason was a father to me, a husband to Dad: loving and present.

But it was simpler than that. Jason could make Bruce laugh.

:::

“I remember when they got married,” Uncle Tim said to me one night when I was fifteen. He was playing Oracle while the others gallivanted around Gotham to fight crime. I had been benched from putting on the Robin suit because I’d caught the gastro-intestinal virus going around school. I was supposed to be in bed upstairs in the manor, but the stomach pains had kept me awake and uncomfortable and bored. So I took the comforter off of the bed I sometimes slept in if I was staying at the Manor and made my way past the clock and down the stairs into the Bat Cave.

Uncle Tim was there, listening to my dads on the comm. I could hear them laughing.

“I can’t believe how long ago that was,” Tim continued.

“Seventeen years, right?” I said. I sat down on the cave floor and wrapped the comforter around myself.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Tim leaned forward to give the monitor in front of him a cursory examination, then slumped back in the chair. “You were probably being created by Cadmus at the time.”

I pulled the thick, warm blanket tight across my shoulders and arms, swaddling my body like the womb I never grew in.

“I managed to make it in time to see them. Dick and Jason had been going back and forth on whether they wanted to get married or not.”

“Why?”

“Well, I think both of them wanted to anchor themselves to each other, but didn’t know how to go about it in a normal fashion. So Dick came up with the idea of officially making Jason family by marrying him.”

“Officially?”

“Yeah, Jason was way more of the family’s black sheep back then.”

“Is that why he’s not in that one portrait with Grandpa, you, Dad, and Uncle Damian? I know he was alive when it was commissioned.”

“Yeah. There were some misunderstandings and bad blood at the time.”

“I think it just takes Grandpa more energy than he’s used to in order to understand where Dad’s coming from. And Grandpa’s all about efficiency, you know? Jason makes him tired.”

Uncle Tim gave a short, quiet laugh. “That sounds about right.” Tim looked back at the monitors, then turned back to me. “You’ve seen the pictures, right?”

We had two framed photos in the penthouse. I used to love looking at them as a kid and would sneak into my parents’ room, sit on their bed and stare at the two frames on the wall. I was used to my parents wearing strange getups, or covered in blood or Gotham’s street grime. At home they wore clothes of comfort: sweat pants and athletic shorts. There were a lot of socks and random t-shirts all over the place. And if my parents had to dress up, it was for a Wayne function. And for those they usually oozed some sort of fake personality (Dick) or disgust (Jason).

But in the wedding photos, my parents look beautiful and happy. They wear well cut suits with clean lines and their hair looks attended to. They wear matching smiles that light up their whole faces.

I told Uncle Tim about the photos. “They hang in my parents’ room.”

He smiled at that. “I only took a few, they’re in Alfred’s scrapbook. I don’t think he ever thought he’d add a wedding section. He was so happy when I sent him the shots.”

“When did you come back and break the news to the rest of the family?”

“Well, Bruce beat us to it by flying out to San Francisco. We found him standing outside City Hall after it was all said and done.”

“Was he mad?”

“I think he was resigned. And concerned. But he was starting to get sick at the time and I don’t think he wanted to put up with Dick and Jay’s personal life.”

“Was this when Grandpa had cancer?”

“Yeah. He was just about to be diagnosed. Clark hadn’t seen B in a while, came to visit, and noticed he was off. He flat out asked Bruce if he could x-ray him right there. Then he told him what he saw.

“But Bruce left your dads alone for the most part. I think he tried to reason with Dick. It took B longer than the rest of us to understand what your parents meant to each other, but to be fair, he was in a coma for a lot of it.”

“Was it weird coming back to Gotham?”

“We delayed it for a bit. We spent a couple nights in SF. Jason wanted to see a concert at The Warfield. And Dick wanted to eat at this Moroccan restaurant on O’Farrell Street, which was a bit unpleasant.”

“The restaurant?”

“No, the food was good. The street was unexpected. It was nothing but super weird theatres and that Moroccan place. Oh! And Jason showed us where the Batman, Incorporated front was. It was down a block on the same street.

“I left to return back to Gotham afterwards, but Dick and Jay decided to grab a car and road trip.”

“ _Grab_ a car?”

“I’m sure they rented it. I don’t think they boosted anything.”

“Where’d they go?”

“They went north. They spent a day in Napa. Jason called me specifically to tell me how boring it was. They went to the Redwoods. Saw the Gold Coast. Stayed in Astoria where _The Goonies_ was filmed. Dick liked it because Astoria’s named after a guy whose last name was Astor. Just Astor. He wouldn’t shut up about it for months.”

“Ugh. Dad.”

“I know. It wasn’t even spelled correctly. And then they drove up to Washington so they could give Oliver Queen some hell. They took out a whole bunch of criminals in ways Queen didn’t appreciate.”

“Which would be?”

“Too flashy. You know your parents. Bit of show-offs, they are. Oliver actually complained about them to Bruce.”

“What did Grandpa do?”

“Told him Dick and Jay were adults and free to make their own decisions.”

“No wonder Oliver doesn’t like my dads.”

“Oh, Ollie’s dislike started way before. He didn’t like that Dick and Roy had a falling out for a bit. And then Queen and Roy had their own falling out and Roy landed in a Quraci prison. Instead of Ollie heroically showing up to save and forgive Roy, it was Jason who pulled him out and then Roy was a member of Jason’s Outlaws.”

“Why is there so much drama amongst vigilantes?” I asked.

Uncle Tim just laughed and said, “Because vigilantes are human, kid.”

I took a moment to consider what Uncle Tim had said. These people I was surrounded with were superheroes; they were family. I loved them. To consider them as simply human made them sound fragile.

I sat there on the cave floor, wrapped in my comforter, in a deafening quietness until tinny words reached my ears and bounced around my mind before they settled into understanding.

“Okay, now jump this one, Dickie, and try not to over-rotate.”

“I _do not_ over-rotate. Ever.”

“You did on the last one. I saw it. Come on.”

Silence. And then, Jason singing, “ _He’d fly through the air with the greatest of ease, a daring young man on the flying trapeze.”_

Laughter. “Oh yeah?” Dick said over the Cave’s audio system. “And whose love have I _‘purloined away’_?”

“Well, obviously mine, Dickie. I mean, come on. What with your…”

Uncle Tim scrambled to sit up and patch himself through to their earpieces. “Uh, your comms are live and your son’s listening.”

I heard a groan and then a gruff, “Pete! Go to bed!”

I stayed on the ground and yelled my response. “I don’t feel good!”

“I thought we switched to our private channel?” Dick asked before addressing me. “Tom, there should be some ginger ale and crackers if you need it. Otherwise, just sip some water and try to sleep.”

Uncle Tim turned to me. “You can stay in the Cave,” he whispered and I shot him a thumbs up.

My parents switched between the main channel and their own for the rest of patrol. I sat with Uncle Tim even though my Dad had told me to go to bed. And Uncle Tim let me stay because he loved me. Because he had a weakness. Because he was a vigilante and vigilantes are human.

:::

Years before I was made and a couple years before my parents got married, my dad Dick was a secret agent for a corrupt organization called Spyral.

I’ve heard plenty of stories. I’ve seen quite of few official recordings of Dad’s operations. He was pretty hot shit. The uniform was tailored for him: fairly traditional pants that moved with him like spandex, a tight fitting athletic shirt, weapons holstered at a diagonal across the chest and back, and, of course, accents of a light blue which can only be described as Dick Grayson blue. It’s not the only shade of the color he’s worn, but any blue he wears is Dick Grayson blue.

When my Dad assumed the identity of Agent 37, he also had to let Dick Grayson die. It was a fabrication, but it was born out of truth. My dad really had died in battle, until Lex Luthor, of all people, restarted his heart.

So far, I’m in the minority of the family as far as dying. I have never died. It will happen. And when it does, I will probably not make a dramatic recovery like the others. But Dad was only dead technically for a few minutes, maybe longer, and then allowed the rest of his friends and family believe him gone. The only people who knew the truth included Lex Luthor.

And Batman.

Grandfather signed off on the whole deal; he wanted Dad to take down Spyral from the inside. But for a dead Dick Grayson to really sell, he couldn’t tell the rest of the family. Except maybe Alfred. I think Alfred needed to at least be told to keep making extra servings of food for whenever Dick would sneak into the Batcave. Otherwise, I’m convinced Dad would’ve starved.

There was a funeral. My dad Jason even attended, which was huge for him. I think this was when he first started to realize Dick meant more to him. That he was more than just a team-up partner; more than a trusted ally. Dad and Uncle Tim would go off on missions together after they went to Dick’s funeral, mostly to keep each other safe and to keep the bond of Dick alive.

When Dick Grayson returned to the living, my dad Jason was pissed. So was Uncle Tim and together they yelled and ranted and accused. And even in his anger, Jason was desperate to know what he and Dick were to each other. Uncle Tim said Jason had yelled out “You don’t do that to your --- You don’t do that to another _Robin_!” Tim had thought at the time Dad was going to say _family_ or _brother_ before he abruptly switched. And maybe he was. He got hung up on the word _brother_ for a while whenever he was with Dick. He tried to find every use of the word brother to describe him and Dick except in the way that meant _a biological or adopted sibling_.

“I mean that in the Orwellian sense.”

Or, “I mean as in a comrade.”

Or, in response to Dick using the word brother: “You mean that colloquially?”

And so on.

Dad was kind of a mess when it came to his personal life before he accepted that the person he wanted was Dick and came to terms with that. Most of the family just attributed it to Jason’s both lack of experience and also plenty of experience. Jason didn’t date. He didn’t pursue people romantically. Before my dads eloped, Jason had resigned himself to fully dedicating his life to vigilante work. But that didn’t mean he didn’t know how people operated, or what they wanted. Jason had grown up on the streets of the Bowery, remember? He was well versed in the goings on of certain activities.

But when Dick came back to the living, Jason didn’t exactly welcome him with open arms. He raged, he scowled, he made sarcastic remarks. But he also made sure he kept Dick safe. He worked hard to remain a part of the team.

I would ask my dads about that time in my parents’ lives often. I’d always seen that moment as a tipping point for them: Jason’s anger over being deceived, the grief he felt; Dick’s loneliness at a life he felt forced into, his self-hatred over lying to his family. Usually Dick would just give me a play by play of how everything went down, with a bit of commentary on how he felt. But when I asked Jason about why they had hurt so much, why they had hurt each other, Jason simply quoted Toni Morrison at me.

He said,

“ _Anything dead coming back to life hurts.”_

:::

The night my father died I was not on patrol.

I had decided to stay home with my family. I wanted to read my son a story and hold him until he fell asleep. He had just turned two and was going through some distinct personality changes: more active, more boisterous, more decisive and sure of himself. My wife and I named him Todd; after Jason, after the man who signed his name to my parents’ marriage certificate.

I had wanted to spend the evening with my wife. I had been away more than usual and I wanted to sit and talk and reconnect. The nice thing about so many vigilantes in Gotham is we rotated patrol nights, and I was called out less frequently due to the fact I was the vigilante with a wife and son. I appreciated the understanding, but Gotham had endured a tough week of gang wars and villains with unhinged vendettas, so I'd been making a lot of night appearances as Red Bird, one of Uncle Damian's old handles.

Not everyone felt the same as me. I know Jim Gordon had worked day and night to make Gotham a better place even though he'd had a family at home.

And let’s just say, since I’m married to Jim Gordon’s granddaughter, it was always going to be important to both myself and my wife that we make time for family.

-

I met Easley Gordon for the first time at Wayne Manor. She was three and I was seven. She was shy when we were first introduced and then after an hour or so she started to follow me wherever I went. I showed her some toys Alfred kept stashed in the library and she laughed at my antics as I made action figures battle each other, sending them flying across the room after each powerful impact. She took one of my stuffed teddies home with her when she left that day and I didn’t see her again for a long time. Barbara kept Easley out of the Bat Cave completely and made Oracle her own persona full time, which Babs could do from home. The family always joked Babs only dated Batboys or low-level criminals, so it was a huge surprise when we attended the wedding of Barbara and some no-name normal guy. I was three at the time and had only been with Dick and Jason for a couple of years. Easley was born a year later. Her sister, Mae, three or four years after. And while Babs would show up in the Cave every now and then, she never brought her personal life with her. If I was around when she stopped by, she would ask how I was. She would ask what I was studying in school. What books was I interested in. If I had learned a particular kick yet. She seemed genuinely interested, like she was building a frame of reference. It was much later I found out Babs was training Easley and Mae herself with her own Birds of Prey group and was using me as her baseline. And it wasn't until I was a grown adult I learned Babs used to come over all the time after I'd gone to bed to complain about random Bat family members. Usually Grandpa Bruce or my dad Dick.

 

-

Easley and I were in bed and Toddy was asleep when I got the call. I had been basking in the simplistic beauty of the moment: nowhere to go, Easley sitting up in bed with a thin t-shirt clinging to her skin, a book in her hands, her auburn hair falling over a shoulder. She would laugh at a part in the book she was reading and I’d ask her to explain what was funny. She’d have to look up from her book and tell me to stop distracting her, but then she’d laugh again and I’d ask once more. She had a leg thrown over mine as we sat tangled in each other, but pursuing our own entertainment. Easley, with her almost finished book; and me, watching her eyes narrow in suspicious disbelief over what she was reading or a smirk over some character’s antics. It was simple and nothing and lovely.

My personal phone rang out and I saw Dad’s name displayed on the screen and I didn’t think twice about answering it.

“Dad?”

“Hey. I need you to get to the Manor immediately.”

There was an uptick in Dick’s voice, and though he sounded calm, I could hear the extra effort it was taking.

“It’s late,” I said, going through the proper motions, “and people are asleep. Should I come by the front door or by the clock instead?”

“By the clock. Come now.”

-

I entered the Cave not knowing what to expect, and yet afraid the entire time of what was to come. I was met at first by Uncle Damian, who wore the cape and the cowl of Batman, then Uncle Tim. They walked beside me as I moved to where I knew others were gathered: the glass window partitioned infirmary room. I saw the old crowd there, standing around a cot. Cass, Steph, Harper, and Duke looked to me as I approached and then made room for me. My parents laid in a heap on the cot, barely containing their bodies, Dick cradling Jason’s head and shoulders in his lap. They had managed to remove Dad’s leather jacket and armored shirt. I saw skin interrupted with taped gauze and rivulets of blood. I stared at the revealed skin, a vast landscape of muscle and horror; of new injuries and old. And in the back of my mind, a thought repeating itself like an alarm that won’t shut off, _the skin remains unmoving._

I was still staring when I realized Dick had been talking to me.

“Pete,” my dad was calling.

It was the nickname that shook me out of my stupor. The one Jason called me by.

“He’s gone, Pete.”

I looked up to see Dick’s face in anguish.

-

For as far back as I can remember, Dick had always loved with an intensity he only saved for those who deserved it. He had a naturally amiable disposition, but it didn’t mean he automatically took to whoever crossed paths with him. You had to earn Dick Grayson’s love.

Jason had earned Dick’s love through his determination, his loyalty, and his honesty. I had earned Dad’s love simply by existing. It was weird, but it made me feel special, too.

Every skinned knee and scraped elbow ended with an all-encompassing hug from Dad. Every hurt ended with a kiss, with me lifted in Dad’s arms for him to hold me close. Jason got to do all of those things while Dick was away at work, so when Dad was home, Jason defaulted to letting Dick soothe any nightmares or pains of mine.

I have grown up, though, and I have grown away from Dick’s hugs, from his kisses. I have my own son to shower affection on. To kiss while he sleeps. To hold when he’s scared. And Dick had been fine. He had himself. He had family. And he had Jason. He had Jason to hold and to love and to cherish.

But the Jason in Dick’s arms, as I stood in shock in the Cave, felt nothing at all.

-

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t here for him! I wasn’t here for you!”

Once I opened my mouth, I couldn’t stop. There were tear streaks on Dad’s dirty face, covered in blood and a shiny black substance I thought maybe was grease.

“I wasn’t there, Dad! How could I not be there for him?”

“This isn’t your fault.” Dick had to repeat himself several times before I stopped talking so I could take in his words. “You, being at home with Eas and Todd? It’s what Jay and I wanted for you. It’s all we wanted for you.”

I stepped closer and Dad reached a free arm around my neck and pulled me down to him, holding me close to his comforting warmth I had known every day since my parents found me in that Cadmus lab.

“I’m sorry, too, Pete. I’m sorry I couldn’t save him this time.”

I slipped out of Dad’s embrace and sat on the floor at his feet. Jason’s domino had been removed and his eyes were closed. I stared at his lined, peaceful face, still handsome and framed by hair which had lightened over the later years. I expected him to open his eyes and say something like, _Hey, kiddo. I’m fine. Now go away, I’m having a moment with your dad._

But he didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t suddenly draw breath. And my brain finally processed what was before me: Jason Todd was dead. Red Hood was dead. My father was dead. I suddenly couldn’t breathe and nothing but sobbing gasps could pass my lips. I sat there, overwhelmed, Dick’s hand caressing the top of my head with a shaky rhythm that told me he was crying too.

It’s a harsh realization to find out the eternal statues in your life are actually pillars of salt. One day they’ll stop, look behind them, and crumble.

:::

It’s been six months since Jason died.

I visit his gravestone often. It sits on a small slope at the Manor. To the side, with some space between, sits Grandfather Bruce’s grave. There’s room in the middle for my dad Dick to join them. Uncle Damian will sit on the other side of grandfather and I’ll eventually go on the other side of dad Jason. I think Uncle Tim wants his plot to be close to my dads, since he was closest to them. Or rather he just wants to not be next to Uncle Damian.

It’s probably weird to have your gravestones marked out like a family dinner seating arrangement. But for us, we all knew our futures would end in dirt. Seeing Dad’s grave, seeing grandfather’s, it comforts me. One day, people will tread the soft grass of the gently sloping hill and see all of us together, me included. They will know together we were formidable. Together we were Gotham’s future. Together we were family. And together we will remain until the stone crumbles back into the ground. Until the newspaper clippings disintegrate and the digital archives corrupt. Until there is no one left to remember us.

-

Death has always been equated with failure in my family. If you die, it’s because you failed or somebody, something, failed you. Batman died because he failed. Jason died at fifteen because of many people’s failures. Dick died. Green Arrow died. Superman, too.

Fail. Fail. Fail.

All of those listed before came back to life to correct their failures.

My father is dead, but he is not a failure. It's how I know he won't be coming back to us this time. Jason died because of choices he made, with risks he accepted. He died wrapped in violence, covered in blood, and held by Dick Grayson. I like to think Jason would say he filled out his kink Bingo card. Besides, how can you fail when you’re still vaulting across rooftops close to sixty years of age to defeat super villains with your wits and your fists?

:::

I don’t know anything about the afterlife. I don’t know what to expect other than nothing. I know grandfather traveled through time when he died the first or second time, but there were other factors at work there: metals and the will of gods and alien technology. That’s how it always was for Grandpa – extenuating circumstances. Dick doesn’t remember the few minutes he was technically dead. And the person who had definitive answers on death was Jason. But he either refused to say or didn’t remember. I’ve always leaned towards the latter. But it means I still don’t know what to expect – for any of us. I’ve heard talk of God or gods. I’ve heard tales of the Endless. I’ve heard there’s nothing and we are nothing so none of it matters. My parents taught me to be prepared for any outcome, and I will take that thinking into death as well.

I think in the end, the Batman way of _be prepared_ fits with any philosophical belief, though I am biased based on how I was raised. Jason was sort of brought up Catholic and Dick was loosely raised some kind of Protestant, I think mostly to find acceptance in the white Christian communities the circus performed in. But for us bats, God was Batman and we loved and hated Batman the same way most people love and hate God.

And me? I would keep my distance from death for now and live as I was raised, postponing the inevitable while I prepared, this time with the jacket and the hood. I would become like Jason, scattering memorials of justice around Gotham to become the Argonauts. I almost wish Grandpa was alive to see me don the red helmet. He would’ve been so pissed.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this work...it was an unexpected idea that I'd been sitting on since March.
> 
> Some notes:
> 
> \- The title comes from Volume 9 of The Sandman series: The Kindly Ones. I wouldn't have even come across the phrase and the meaning attached if it hadn't been for GavotteAndGigue's [Dreamscape](https://archiveofourown.org/series/737748) series, which inspired me to pick up the series again. Thank you!!
> 
> \- This work takes place in the future. Thomas Grayson is in his thirties.
> 
> \- Bruce died from natural causes at an old age, as did Alfred.
> 
> \- Easley Gordon is named after Annie Easley, a mathematician, computer scientist, and rocket scientist. Her sister Mae is named after Mae Jemison, NASA astronaut, physician, and scientist. Babs has a theme going :)
> 
> \- There are references to canon events. If you need help deciphering, feel free to comment here or on my [tumblr](https://stevieraebarnes.tumblr.com)
> 
> \- There are also references to events in my [Don't Take Your Guns to Bed](https://archiveofourown.org/series/925683) series. But you don't have to read that if you don't want to.


End file.
